Gravitation
by Kiwako
Summary: The earth holds an inescapable attractive force on the moon, holding it in orbit despite the astronomical effort it puts into moving forward. Sasuke knows this from experience. Post-canon celebratory smut


**Hello! **

**I started writing this pretty much immediately after reading 699/700. I loved how 699 was narrated by Sasuke, because it gives such a beautiful glimpse into his character. I also loved how understated his parting scene with Sakura was, but of course I couldn't just leave perfection alone. But I think that's part of the beauty of leaving some things to the imagination, it invites fanfiction! With this in mind, I set out to write their love story, but then they started dry humping and I ended up writing a giant smut fic. **

**Oops. **

**Oh well. In my mind, this is still a story about how Sasuke learns about love, because I believe there are things he can never learn until he allows himself to get completely tangled up in it, until he stops taking too much, stops giving too much, and finally begins to share.**

**I may or may not tweak this after The Last, depends on how much it changes.**

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><p><strong>Gravitation<strong>

Optional Soundtrack, in the following order:

_Counting Stars_, Nujabes

_Who's Theme,_ Minmi

_Les Promesses_, Autour de Lucie

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><p>As Sasuke wanders, so does his mind.<p>

His journey is both a self-imposed punishment and a luxury: a punishment because he is alone, removed from the people he calls family yet again, and a luxury because he is alone, free to see and think and feel and be whatever he wants, subjected to nobody's agenda but his own.

When not among other people, he finds he prefers to travel by night, and not for any reason except that he likes the stars, distant beacons of light that are ever present but shine brightest only after one has been plunged into the deepest, blackest darkness. It gives him hope, and reaffirms his conviction that there is something out there yet, something for him to find within himself that will carry him through the gloomiest nights of his soul, to give him direction until the sun arrives to dispel the dark.

It is oddly fitting, then, that Naruto has finally noticed Hinata, the girl who looks to the sun. Because Naruto is the sun to his moon, the yang to his yin. Since the night of the massacre, it is as if he has only ever existed in the darkness, his light strongest when he allows Naruto's light to shine on him. And like the daytime moon, he hardly knows what to do with himself when he is finally dragged into the world of light. It is overwhelmingly, beautifully bright, to the point that he is blinded, unable to see how and where he can possibly fit in.

So he leaves, to discover other lights than the sun, to find what he is capable of when he is more than just a mirror of others' ambitions and desires, to atone for the darkness he has helped to spread. He has no choice but forge onward, hurtling forward in space into the everlasting unknown that stretches before him.

Yet, he cannot.

For the earth holds an inescapable attractive force on the moon, holding it in orbit despite the astronomical effort it puts into moving forward. By going faster, the moon can widen the path of its orbit, of course, but gravitation is infinite, and no amount of effort to distance itself can ever completely negate the earth's pull.

Sasuke knows this from experience.

Although he is thousands of miles from Konoha, from Sakura, now that he allows himself to think of her, he finds traces of her in everything. He sees her defiance in the crooked, windblown trees that force strong roots into dry soil, crushing even the rocks that lie in their way. He sees her steadfast devotion in the streams that trickle down from the mountains, stubbornly giving of themselves to sustain the life around them, even if such selflessness could eventually sap their vitality. He sees her innocence in the faces of the scrawny street children who offer him food when he walks through tiny rural villages, too unschooled in the ways of the world to be properly afraid of him. He sees her paradoxical fragility in the cherry blossoms she is named for, a lovely, delicate symbol of the transience of life.

It is then, standing amidst a sudden storm of scattered, pink petals—exactly the shade of her hair—that he is gripped by an inexplicable, unreasonable fear. He requires a full hour of silent musing before he can pinpoint its exact cause, realizing that he is so used to having nothing to lose that he only vaguely recalls the fear of loss.

He cools his growing frustration by burning a deadened tree to ash, then spends several days trying to compress superheated soot in exactly the right way. Graphite is the most thermodynamically stable form of carbon, of course, but diamond is prettier and stronger and a more widely interpretable token of affection.

Over the next few weeks, he deliberately visits bigger cities, until he finds an old man who can cut it, set it, and suspend it from a fine, golden chain. It costs him two weeks of humbling menial labor, the kind that reminds him he is still a mere genin. When it is done, he summons one of his hawks and ties the small parcel to its leg, accompanied by only a two-word message: _Thank you_. He leaves out the implicit words that the cleverest girl in Konoha will surely understand, for she has always been a master of interpreting his silences, in some aspects better than Naruto because their conversations do not require fists. Then, he instructs his hawk to disappear upon delivery, for any communication from Sakura will surely distract him.

As it happens, he is distracted anyway, graced with occasional daydreams of her going about her life in the village, the pale diamond nestled safely in the hollow of her slim throat. He is haunted by visions of her lying awake in bed, the loneliness she has kept at bay by overworking herself finally catching up to her, and sees her reaching up to finger the simple pendant to remind herself that this time is different. He imagines the way her hand flies instinctively to her throat when other boys petition for her attention, and the understanding that dawns in their eyes when they see the glimmering proof of a prior claim. While it is not as definite a statement as a ring, it will be a sufficiently good hint to the astute admirer, but not so specific that anyone but her friends will trace it back to him. After all, he is not exactly popular at the moment, and there is no need for her to suffer for his sins, no more than she already does.

The satisfaction he gleans from these daydreams soon fades and gives way to unrest, until he fears he may inundate her with silly trinkets from his travels.

After helping to rebuild a ramshackle town for a scraggly bunch of refugees, he feels peaceful enough that he decides it is time to make good on his promise—"I'll see you soon," he'd said—and pay her a brief visit. He slips in through her window several nights later and finds her curled up on her couch, dressed in a scrubby, old t-shirt, the kind that people only wear in the comfort of their homes, when they are absolutely certain that nobody will ever see them. It is loose enough that one side of the stretched-out neckline threatens to slip off her shoulder, enough to expose her neck and show him that she has, in fact, chosen to wear his necklace. He seats himself on the armrest, taps the forehead that once gave her so much grief, and watches her green eyes snap open.

"Sasuke-kun!"

"I'm just stopping by," he warns her, before she can get her hopes up.

If the light dims in her eyes, it is back quickly enough that he cannot be sure what he has seen. She sits up and scoots away subtly, as if desperate for the familiarity of distance. Sakura, it seems, is no more certain how to proceed than he is.

"What brings you back?" she asks, probably deciding that polite conversation is a safe fallback.

He plops himself down next to her, and looks pointedly at her because if she were paying any attention, the answer would be obvious. He admires the rosy flush that rises in her cheek, a reaction he is getting increasingly good at eliciting.

"T-tell me about your travels," she murmurs, flustered.

So he does, speaking quietly until the faint orange tint in the eastern sky signals that dawn is approaching. By that time, her head is drooping against his shoulder and he recognizes that she is not intermittently nocturnal, as he is, and probably needs her sleep. When he lays her down, he remembers another time he has done the same thing before leaving. If nothing else, he owes her a proper goodbye, anything that will make their parting easier. Because he has so many sins to atone for and so much to learn before he can ever be at peace with himself, he knows these partings will become their routine.

He leans down and brushes his lips against hers lightly, unprepared for her to stir awake and twine her deceptively slim arms around his neck. One stolen second gives way to two, three, five, _twenty_, until they both must pull back for breath, dazed.

One thing he has learned from Kakashi is the art of making maximum impact with a well-timed entrance or exit, and he knows it will be hard to top such a kiss, at least for the moment. So he rises and crosses the room to her window, for it is time to go.

But the quiet sound of her panting while she catches her breath distracts him, and he is lost the moment he turns to look at her one last time. He feels the weight of her wide-eyed gaze on him, and all of a sudden he feels the intractable, impossible pull, always attracting and never repelling.

He cannot explain his actions later, only that he is unable to think of a more efficient way to express his thanks than to try to give her some of the things she yearns for, even if he cannot give her everything, not yet. He is not even certain what is going on as it happens, only that he has crossed the room again and grasped her chin in his hand, tilting her head back so he can catch her lower lip between his own and taste its plump sweetness. A moan escapes her throat, and the sound sends jolts of lightning through his very bones, raising gooseflesh on the back of his neck when he realizes all the ways it might be possible to hear that noise again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and again, until she is writhing in pleasurable torture beneath him, incapable of doing anything but moan for him, only for him.

It truly is time to go.

He leaves.

Several more weeks pass before he notices that the sum of his travel choices lead him in an arc around Konoha. It is unwise to get too close, because there are things he needs to do, things that complete him in a different, but equally important way. However, he does not venture too far, because the knowledge that he could reach her in a fortnight, or in a week if it is truly important and he does not sleep, keeps him firmly tethered to his sanity.

New sorts of dreams come to him at night, unbidden. The Uchiha compound is big, but filled with the pitter-patter of tiny feet around its floors. Itachi teaches a little, pink-haired boy to throw shuriken, while an older, dark haired girl punches crevasses into the earth, then chases the pressure wave with a spout of red-gold flame. There are vegetables in the family plot, the smell of food wafts from the kitchen, and fresh laundry sways gently on the line. The night he dreams of a warm bed indented by someone else's body weight and pale pink strands straying onto his pillow, he jumps awake and has to pat the grassy earth he lies upon just be sure it was all a dream.

A month later, he is ready to visit her again. So he slowly makes his way back to Konoha, taking time to help at least one person in every village along the way. This time, Ino is over for dinner, and he listens to them chatter about matters of little consequence for hours while he explores the contents of her darkened bedroom, feeling slightly criminal. Then he reminds himself that he already is a criminal, and it almost makes things better. It is well into the night before Ino finally leaves and he feels it is time to make his presence known.

"Sasuke-kun!"

She sees him open his mouth and hurries on. "Just stopping by again?"

He smiles faintly, grateful she understands, and nods.

"Well," she babbles on, wringing her hands, "have you had dinner already? I mean, I have, but I have leftovers if you want. They're really not that bad, you know—"

In fact, he _has_ eaten, but probably not the sort of meal she would approve of. He is losing weight. So he lets her whirl around the kitchen, heating up bits of this and that, because he suspects having busy hands will ease her mind while she gets used to his presence again. In a backwards way, it reminds him of how Itachi used to tame his crows, giving them lots of time and space in order to put them at ease, making them more amenable to his presence. However, the air between them is thick and heavy, and he can hardly breathe. When she drops her pan for the second time in a row, clearly preoccupied with other thoughts, he hopes that he is not the only one who cannot forget the terms on which they last parted.

"How are the dobe and the old man?" he asks.

She seems relieved to have an easy conversation topic.

"Oh, the same as ever," she says. Then she cocks her head to the side, confused. "You haven't visited them, too?"

"No."

Her cheeks flush again and she turns back to the stove and lets her hair fall forward, obscuring her face from his gaze.

"Oh."

He sits in silence for several minutes until she sets a plate in front of him, then she begins to regale him with tales of idiocy, laziness, and perversion while he eats. She is still talking when he finishes, so he stays put and listens for as long as her mouth continues to move. When she runs out of stories, he rises to his feet and carries the dishes to the sink. He intends to wash them properly, but stops when he feels a tug on his shirt.

"Don't waste our time on that."

She looks him straight in the eye, the blush only barely creeping onto her cheeks. It feels impolite to leave her with extra work, but he understands her priorities. She has no way of knowing yet that he actually has been very careful not to waste any time this evening.

"Please."

He is the one who makes first contact, curling his good arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him uncertainly. He hasn't really given anyone a hug since his mother, although Sakura and Naruto have made sure he's received plenty. But it seems to be the right move because Sakura sighs and relaxes against his chest, resting her temple in the crook of his neck. She readjusts slightly as she wraps her arms around him, and it is just enough of a shift that he can feel the flutter of her eyelashes against the skin of his throat. It is annoying, but he would rather bear it than be without her.

"Where have you been recently?"

While he speaks, she listens with her ear pressed to his ribcage, quietly taking everything in. He wonders what matters more, his words or simply the sound of his voice, but he is not curious enough to test it. All too soon, there is nothing left to say, or at least nothing important enough to take precedence over other activities. He would prefer for her to be comfortable, but isn't sure how to smoothly transition to sitting on the couch. The bed, he decides, is still too forward. His body is becoming more and more like that of a man, but inside, he is only beginning to understand what a child he has been, and still is.

It is Sakura, braver in matters of the heart than he, who solves the problem.

"You must be so tired from your journey, Sasuke-kun."

Actually, he feels lighter and more alive than he ever has before, but the truth is hardly important when it comes to this little script they are playing out. So he lets her lead him to the couch, unfasten his cloak, and invite him to sit. She starts to play her role too well when she turns back toward the kitchen to make him some tea, so he puts a stop to it by tugging her onto his lap. She is pressing soft kisses to his jawline before he has even decided where to begin, and her fervor is a humbling, yet pleasant surprise.

"Sakura."

She pauses her ministrations in order to look up at him, curious and ever so slightly insecure. He hadn't intended to worry her, but at least her lips are no longer otherwise occupied. Before she can start to second-guess herself further, he gives her lips a new assignment, interlocking them with his own. He hopes she likes her own cooking, because it is undoubtedly what he tastes like. But she puts up little resistance when he slides his tongue against hers, merely angling her head further and tangling her fingers into his hair. She stops abruptly, and it is his turn to worry.

"My neck," she explains apologetically as she extricates herself, and he realizes that the way she is sitting, she needs to twist to meet him. But she gets up and repositions herself so she is perched on his lap with one leg thrown to either side of him, and simply resumes her business.

He doesn't realize he is gripping her hip until his thumb gets caught in the hem of her skirt, brushing the bare skin of her thigh, and she gasps, arching her back. In that moment, he thinks he might die because her breasts—he has always known they aren't overly large, but now he discovers they are very soft—are pressing into his chest, and maybe he feels her nipples through her bindings, and every now and then, the warm junction of her thighs rubs roughly against a growing bulge in his pants. It is an overwhelming flood of sensory information, enough that he forgets his usual restraint, throws his head back, and groans out loud. When he opens his eyes, Sakura is looking at him with such wonder that he cannot help but toss her a cocky smirk and slowly grind his hips up against hers, until her face is stained completely pink in embarrassment. It is important that she understand the effect she has on him, that he is not as unmoved by her as he often pretends.

"S-sasuke-kun!"

He admires the picture she makes: gloriously disheveled with swollen, just-kissed lips, perfect except for the fact that her pretty, green eyes are screwed tightly shut.

"Sakura."

It is not until he completely stops moving that he reclaims her full attention.

"Look at me."

And when she opens her eyes, dark with desire, he rewards her by running his right hand firmly up her side, sliding over her breast—the way she cries out in response makes him wish he had the use of his left, if only for this moment—and upward until he is cupping her cheek in his palm.

"Just like that, Sakura," he soothes, then he begins to move again, rubbing his arousal back and forth over a particularly sensitive spot between her legs, until she is rocking mindlessly against him and moaning his name out in deliciously broken fragments. The sweet friction between them feels unbearably good, but the sounds she makes are even better. He experiments with different timing and pressures, observing the different ways he can make her sob out his name.

"Sah-ah-_ah_-suke-kun!"

He thrusts upward particularly roughly.

"S-sa-a-_aah_-suke-kun!"

His hand joins the party, reaching between them to rub circles over that spot she likes so much, presumably her clit. He watches her eyes slide in and out of focus, then presses down, hard. Her eyes widen.

"Sa-_ah_-ah-aah-_aaaaah_!

He catches her when she collapses bonelessly against him, spent and trembling and indisputably _his_. As she clutches his shirt, taking great gulps of air, he rubs her back and murmurs quiet words of comfort in her ear while she recovers from her dizzying high, stunned that he has just had the audacity to indulge himself so, to coax her all the way to a mind-shattering climax. The throbbing ache of his own unfulfilled arousal is terrible, but it must go ignored for a little longer yet.

When she finally grows sleepy and he carries her to her bed, he tries to leave and feels the strange pull again. It gets stronger, he knows, the closer he allows himself to get to her, but now he sees that he cannot even mitigate its hold on him by indulging it every now and then. He already knows there is no way to redirect it, or to somehow shield himself against it, and is beginning to wonder if the only solution is complete surrender.

He presses a quick kiss to her forehead and flees.

This time around, his travels are confined to a marginally smaller radius around Konoha. He stays away for longer this time, partially because the people he meets are beginning to recognize him. Some of the people he has helped even welcome him. There are no bridges named after him yet, but he begins to entertain hopes that redemption may truly be possible.

The other reason he stays away is because he knows he needs time to cool his head a little. He does not want to make Sakura suffer any more than necessary, of course, but he allows himself longer than usual—and he is bemused that his mind has already decided there is a pattern to his decisions, enough that there is such a thing as "usual"—because he has taken a kunai and etched tiny Uchiha fans onto various objects in her bedroom. Nothing that looked too valuable, of course, because he doesn't really want to make her angry, but things that she will probably inspect before deciding to throw away. The whole thing is improvised off of one of Orochimaru's more inspired inventions, pills that activate genjutsu upon ingestion. His skill with genjutsu easily eclipses Orochimaru's, so he is able to design some to activate upon touch.

Sometimes he finds himself thinking of her to the point of distraction, so he gets in the habit of purchasing little baubles into which he can channel his thoughts. Some of these he sends to her, and some he tucks away for later.

When he decides to visit again, her chakra signature is nowhere near, and some bastard is raining comets on Konoha and trying to destabilize the moon. By the time the situation is taken care of, they have had a reunion, but it is rather more public than either of them prefers. But eventually everything calms down and they have time together, alone.

And that is how he finds himself rearranging his plans, unable to resist the mysterious pull yet again.

She holds her hand out, palm up, and unfolds her fingers from around a small perfume bottle.

"How many?" she asks, and at first he thinks she wants to know how many genjutsu he has stored away for her, a difficult question. She has already complained that his little illusions are turning her into something of a neat freak, cleaning at every opportunity in hopes of uncovering a new surprise. But she looks too shaken, and he remembers that that particular bottle had once held vague impressions from his dream of the revitalized Uchiha compound. He had specifically included an image of the pink-haired child, taking in the wide world around him with his own, jet-black eyes.

"Ah." He looks away and feels somewhat exposed now that she knows one of his most private dreams. "That's a decision I thought we should make together."

She grins and punches at the sky with a cry of "Shannaro!" and he has to smile at the familiar gesture, one he has not seen for years. And that night, they flop on her bed together and discuss their future. They will have to be married, of course, and it will be best if Sakura moves out of her apartment and gets to work on restoring the compound. She is already plotting to plant the idea in Naruto's head that hiring several teams of genin slaves would be an excellent wedding present. And when Naruto drops by and catches wind of their plans, he howls and whines at them for stealing his thunder: he has just formally asked permission to marry Hinata. Kakashi, for his part, is all too happy to play sensei once more and starts assigning them chapters from Icha Icha Paradise, demanding a book report from each before he will agree to preside over any nuptials.

More time passes, but there is so much to do that he cannot get away. It matters increasingly little, as Konoha has begun to welcome him back, largely thanks to his daring, singlehanded rescue…no pun intended. And Sasuke finds himself getting drawn into more and more plans. The simple fact that he is including her in his decision making process makes her so happy that he feels a twinge of guilt for being so arbitrary for so long, especially since he knows that there are still a few decisions he will leave her out of. But he knows she is already aware of it, just as she is aware that he is actively working to change. And he has no intention of destroying what they have. On the contrary, he wants it to work, more than he has wanted anything else in a long time. And if anything were to go wrong, he is pretty sure it would be his fault because Sakura has already proven herself to be ridiculously resilient, only matched by Naruto in the strength of her devotion. Even Kakashi is jaw-droppingly lenient with him, in fact. And sometimes he wonders what exactly he did to deserve to be placed on a team with them all. They are his salvation.

He shares this thought with her the night after they have traded wedding vows, and it stops her in her tracks.

"What?"

He repeats himself even if it is embarrassing, mostly because it is their honeymoon and it's exactly the sort of thing that will make her happy. And he is right: she is clearly touched by his honesty. The moment she finishes pulling all the pins out of her hair, she has her arms wrapped firmly around him again. He doesn't mind it, really, except that it limits them from doing other things. He eventually nudges her off of him, but then she looks so stricken that he almost laughs. He takes a seat on the edge of their bed.

"Come here."

He means to issue a smooth command, but the words he wrenches from his throat come out hoarse, raw. It doesn't matter, though, because she seals her fate by obeying him, standing expectantly in the space between his knees. His prosthetic arm is marginally less obedient, but he manages to turn her around and get to work on the unending column of tiny buttons. It is an annoying task, but each inch of flesh that is freed from her dress is its own reward, and he lays a trail of kisses along her spine in wordless worship. She stands still throughout, watching him with hooded eyes. He runs his hand over the smooth expanse of her back, flicks open her bra, then traces a finger down the curve of her spine until it reaches the folds of her dress, which is just barely clinging to her hips. It falls, pooling into a billowy cloud around her feet with the tiniest of tugs. When he turns her to face him, she moves to cover herself with her arms.

"Don't," he rasps. Grooms are generally supposed to find their brides attractive, he thinks, but it hits him harder than he expects and he quickly finds himself overwhelmed and befuddled by the stubborn little creature who has fought her way into his heart, for reasons he will never comprehend. She tosses her pretty head impatiently.

"Then it's your turn, Sasuke-kun."

She pushes her dress aside and gets to work on his waistband while he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it to some corner of the room. Soon, she finishes and he is able to kick his pants off, too.

Then they are left standing in only their underwear, looking at each other and feeling slightly foolish. Sakura saves the day again, grabbing a lock of hair from either side of his head and pulling his head down to meet hers. He lets her take charge of the kissing for the moment, while he concentrates on exploring the uncharted territory of her breasts. He gives both nipples an experimental tug, rolling each between a thumb and a forefinger, feeling them stiffen into pert peaks while she moans against his mouth.

He does it again with a little more pressure, and she cries out, a high keening whimper that echoes in his ears, setting his veins ablaze. So he leans over and takes one rosy nipple in his mouth, flicking it with his tongue while he suckles. Her knees wobble for a moment, and as she arches against him, he tumbles them both onto the bed. They bounce upon impact, and Sakura giggles slightly. He pushes her shoulders toward the bed, bringing her back into the moment.

"Lie down," he mutters impatiently.

At that, she laughs out loud. "Bossy," she accuses. But he doesn't really care because she knew exactly what she was getting herself into when she married him.

"Tch. Problem?"

"Nope!"

"Then lie down."

So then they are back where they began, and he braces himself on his forearms over her, gazing down at her. She stares right back up at him, flushed and content.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

Then he muffles her mouth with his, because if she is talking, she clearly isn't busy enough. As their tongues tangle, he feels her wrap her legs around his hips, so he pulls away before she can trap him in her ridiculously strong arms. He sits back then, kneeling between her legs, and studies her. He marvels at the softness of her thighs, considering the steely muscle that lies beneath, and runs his hands appreciatively over the smooth skin, kneading the warm flesh with his fingers. As he trails his hands up higher, she gulps and he feels her legs clench around him.

"Relax," he chides, running a calloused finger along the delicate, lacy edge of her panties. He wonders if she always wears underwear this impractical, and it occurs to him that if he is curious in the future, it will be completely within his rights to strip her and find out. Well, within reason, anyway.

After a few moments, she eventually does relax a little, only to tighten up again when his finger strays beneath the fabric and onto the hypersensitive folds of her womanhood. He strokes it slowly, considering his options while she wriggles impatiently. Her opening is very, very moist, so much that his own loins ache at the thought. And all he wants to do is bury himself deep in her warmth, so much that it hurts, but he is certain she isn't quite prepared for it yet and he is going to make this good for her if it kills him. So he just slips the one finger into her slippery folds, curling it slightly as he drags it back out. Her eyes are wider than he has ever seen them before, but the cry that rips from her throat is not one of anguish, but of pleasure. He plunges two fingers in this time, and she clutches the bed sheets in fistfuls while her hips jerk to meet his hand.

"Sasuke-kun!" she gasps, "please!"

At her request, the same fire that burns in his veins shoots through him, straight to his throbbing member. Another day, he decides, he will fully savor the sound of her begging for him and tease her, wringing passionate pleas from her over and over and over again before granting her the greatest release of her life. But it will not be today, because he needs her to know exactly how willing and able he is to satisfy her. He will never let her regret this union.

He remembers the first night he got her off and rubs his thumb over her clit, pumping his other fingers in and out of her faster and faster, until she cries out and her walls tighten impossibly around his fingers. She melts into the mattress, shuddering and sighing, sated.

But he does not stop. As he understands it, there is no physiologic brake that prevents women from reaching successive climaxes, and the fluid that coats his fingers allows him to continue to slide his fingers along the tight walls of her passage. When she realizes he intends to continue, she covers her face with her hands and moans out her approval. This time, she seems to react even stronger than previously, and he wonders if perhaps the bundle of nerves is more sensitive now, from all the stimulation. He has been terribly cruel to her before, and he needs her to know that he has no intention of ever putting her through that again. He is not sure how he can ever make it up to her, but he hopes he can at least give her a lifetime of happiness. It is, after all, what she has always promised him.

He dips his head down to her neglected breasts and she arches into his mouth even as her hips continue to rock in time with his busy fingers. These are the same breasts, he realizes, that will one day nourish his children, and the mere thought makes him dizzy. He redoubles his efforts to bring her pleasure, scissoring his fingers and stretching her in ways she has never experienced before, until finally she shrieks out his name in choked sobs.

And still he continues to pump, drawing out the waves of her second climax as best he can. He remembers the stupid book report Kakashi has demanded from him, then, and removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth thoughtfully. The taste is foreign, but not unpleasant.

"S-sasuke-kun?"

He ignores her weak protests as he shifts, lowering his mouth to her pink nether lips to lap up some of the juices he has extracted from her. She is too exhausted to fight him, and more embarrassed than ever.

"You taste good," he assures her, and her face burns scarlet, but she still seems doubtful, so he plunges his tongue in and sets about licking her clean to prove his point. Then she is mewling and moaning again, a willing victim to his relentless pursuit of her pleasure. He has only just taken her engorged little bud into his mouth and begun to gently suck it when something in her voice changes. It is subtle, but he notices and stops immediately.

She is crying.

His gut twists painfully, infinitely worse than the excruciating, throbbing erection he has been neglecting all evening.

"Did I hurt you?" he demands, alarmed.

She shakes her head as he gathers her into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

"Then _what_, Sakura?"

Still she sobs, while he gulps and buries his face in her hair, whispering her name over and over again. Is he incapable of doing anything but make her cry? It is a horrible, heart-rending thought. He can do nothing but listen to her until finally, her shaking subsides and she speaks.

"Kakashi-sensei predicted you might do this," she says.

"Do _what_, exactly?" he snaps, at his wit's end. God knows he plans everything, and driving his bride to tears on their marriage bed whilst discussing their former sensei, of all people, was never part of the plan. Why is she even discussing their theoretical sex life with Kakashi, anyway? All they need now is for Naruto to pop in with Hinata and suggest a fucking orgy.

She shrinks visibly. "Make love as if you're trying to atone for your sins."

He gapes at her, absolutely bewildered.

He can't deny it.

He also doesn't really see how it's a bad thing, so long as she enjoys herself in the process, and tells her as much.

She sobs even harder than before, then pauses, glaring ferociously up at him.

"_Of course_ you don't get it!" she rages, and he remembers that she is distractingly beautiful when she is furious. "You stupid idiot—"

She breaks off to cry some more and pound on his chest. He sits still and weathers the storm, because that's what marriage is about.

"Why can't you ever do things that will make _you_ happy?! Just look at you!" She gesticulates wildly at his obvious erection, and he resists the urge to hide it from view. "You never let me go anywhere with you, you never let me _do_ anything for you, you keep me at arm's length, you deliberately make it so there is _nothing_ I can do to make you happy!"

He tries to cut in, then—she is being unreasonable and ridiculous and he has spent far too much time doing things purely for his own sake—but she waves him off and talks loudly over him.

"Why did you even marry me, Sasuke? Is it to make up for all the ways you've wronged me in the past? Because that's not a good enough reason, and I—"

He shoves her back onto the bed, pinning her hands with his own, and kisses her fiercely, finally angry too. "Stop it, Sakura," he growls, voice harsh. "You know that's not true."

"I know," she whispers, tired. "Just…please don't do this anymore. It kills me, watching you. Don't make me sit back and do nothing while you torment yourself. Promise me, Sasuke."

He looks at her, her eyes glassy and her cheeks streaked with tears she has shed over him, and knows there is no denying her this time. He touches his forehead to hers in defeat. "I promise."

And he is not sure exactly when she freed her hands, but he knows she has because they are running through his hair, massaging his scalp while she angles his head so she can kiss him soundly, intertwining her limbs with his until they are one big, hopeless tangle of bone and flesh. Then she flips them, rolling him onto his back while she perches herself astride him. She peels down the top of his boxers until his engorged member springs free, and she takes it in her small hands and pumps it gently, too gently.

"What can I do for you, Sasuke-kun?" she asks innocently, as if she hasn't already begun to give him a handjob. He glares while his hips buck out of control, and she laughs and squeezes his tip, milking the precum that leaks out. She runs her finger over the dribble, then makes a big show of ripping her panties so she can smear some of his fluids around her entrance.

"Oh dear," she says, "I think I'm going to need more. I'm so dry, and I need to be good and wet for you, you see."

That's a big fucking lie, because she is showing him _everything_ and she is clearly dripping wet. But he plays along.

"By all means, Sakura," he groans as she uses her other hand to stroke his balls, "Take as much as you need."

"Thank you, I will."

And then she makes quick work of him, squeezing and stroking and pumping, and he really doesn't know where she has learned how to do this, he just hopes to God it wasn't from Kakashi. The chapters he assigned to her were different from his, so it's entirely possible…

Then he feels everything tightening within him, a spring already wound too far, until it is too much and all the pent up energy explodes from him while he bellows her name. He falls back against the bed, trying to catch his breath, but is horrified to notice Sakura's hands glowing green around his length. Did she break him or something?

"It is normal for men to experience a sexual refractory period immediately following an orgasm," she recites for him. "But there are ways around that."

Before he can turn on his Sharingan and figure out exactly what she is doing, he is rock hard and insatiable all over again. She smiles coyly at him, scooping up his ejaculate and carelessly lubricating herself with it. She suddenly throws back her head, breasts bouncing, and moans loudly.

"Oops," she says, withdrawing the finger she has accidentally slipped into herself. Then she resumes her task.

She is trying to kill him, he is certain of it.

"Give me that," he snarls, grabbing her cum-smeared hand in his own and savagely shoving both their fingers into her. "Is that better?"

She shrieks out his name, which he interprets as an affirmative.

"I think you're more than wet enough now, Sakura."

"I suppose I am," she agrees. He releases her hand, which she uses to position him at her entrance. Then she lowers herself onto him, until she has just engulfed his tip. It feels better than anything he has ever experienced in his life, and he finally understands what all the fuss is about love and sex. He is ready to drive himself into her and sheathe himself all the way to the hilt, except her brows are furrowing strangely. His wanton sex goddess is nervous, he realizes.

"We don't have to," he offers, even as he hopes and prays that they will.

Her eyes burn with her fury. "Shut up!" she snaps. "Don't you dare go all self-sacrificing over something like this!"

Then she slams herself down on him while he hisses in pleasure. She is warm and welcoming, and he can feel every little twist and twitch while she settles, growing used to the feeling of accommodating him. His instincts are immediately screaming at him to start thrusting already, but he sees the tiny trickle of blood that drips down the base of his shaft and cannot bring himself to do it. So he waits until he feels her relax around him and she is nodding her approval before he grasps her hips and lifts her off him slightly, then swiftly pulls her back down. Her face is still twisted in pain, though, so he goes back to what he knows she likes and lazily teases her clit with his thumb. It seems like an eternity passes before she starts moving herself tentatively, and he pours all of his energy into lying completely still, distracting himself by watching her breasts bounce up and down while she rides him.

A low moan snaps him to attention, and looks up in time to see Sakura lean back, so far that the ends of her pink hair tickle his legs, grinding into him all the while. The new angle changes the way her velvety walls rub him, and he cannot hold back any longer. He holds her hips in place and starts pounding into her as hard as he can, silently rejoicing when she starts gasping out her delight. He feels himself dangerously near the edge, but knows she still has a ways to go. So he slows his hips while his hand dutifully lavishes attention on her swollen, hypersensitive bud. Then suddenly, she is gone, wracked with pleasure while she clenches around him, screaming. He is not far behind, and with only a few, jerky thrusts, he feels himself spurting hot ribbons of cum into her while she milks him dry.

He is too tired to even bother sliding out of her when she falls onto him, a limp puddle of sweaty flesh. He wraps his arms firmly around her, nuzzling her head. She smiles at him, exhausted but content. They stay that way for some time, whispering sentimental nonsense at each other and fiddling with each other's hair.

He is mostly asleep when she asks him if he is really leaving tomorrow. He cracks an eye open and looks down at his new wife, who is shyly refusing to meet his gaze. And he feels that awful, annoying, impossible tug again, and realizes for the first time that he actually kind of dreads leaving, even though he knows he has to. She has derailed him from his path long enough, and he is already plummeting out of orbit, hurtling toward a colossal collision.

"I think I can stay another day," he mutters sleepily.

"And after that?" she prods.

Have they not _just barely _averted the end of the world as they know it by preventing the moon from crashing into the earth? He wonders aloud if she knows exactly what kind of disaster she is inviting.

Whatever he mumbles about doom, gloom, the sun, the earth, and the moon must not be completely coherent, because she just looks confused.

"Wait," she says. "I thought the moon itself was created by the collision of two heavenly bodies. Is it such a bad thing?"

Heavenly bodies, indeed.

He pokes her forehead and finally succumbs to sleep. And when he does, he dreams of the moon gradually losing speed, spiraling into the earth until they crash and become one, while the ensuing debris forms new asteroids, new moons, new planets.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Alternative summary: I**n which Rurouni Sasuke manages to make even physics sexy. ****

****My first anime love was Dragonball Z, followed by Rurouni Kenshin, and then Naruto a year or two later. Supposedly, Kishi once wanted to pattern Kakashi a little after Kenshin, but as we all know, Kakashi came to life as his own, entirely different entity. But upon reading the ending, I couldn't help recalling Kenshin's journey of healing following the Bakumatsu. And if anyone has seen Seisohen, his guilt makes a bit of a mess of his family life sometimes (I refuse to acknowledge Seisohen as canon, it makes me that depressed). So, writing this was partially to reaffirm one way Sasuke and Sakura might find balance and happiness, very NSFW happiness.****

**The NSFWness wrote itself in, somehow, but was definitely a challenge. I have a hard time believing that their love life starts out as anything but awkward, but I had to suspend my own disbelief a little because it makes for a sexier story.**

**Also, headcanons!**

**1. The necklace is, in fact, from Sasuke, but not an Uchiha fan.**

**2. There is a reason Sakura cleans so much! In addition to the normal reason, not wanting to live in squalor.**

**3. Sasuke continues to travel, but gradually spends less and less time way, eventually settling down for the sake of his family.**

**4. One day, Naruto accidentally triggers one of Sasuke's genjutsu messages, and is so scarred that Sasuke grudgingly redesigns his system. It turns out to be pretty useful once Sarada is born and starts toddling around.**

**5. Over time, Kakashi manages to con all three of his favorite pupils into reading the entire Icha Icha Paradise series in the name of healthy marital relations.**

****6. They will have a little, pink-haired boy (genetics be damned) to carry on the Uchiha name, and his name will be Duressingu. And maybe a few more rugrats, like Kurutonu and Vinaigrettu and Bureddustikku.****

****I hope you enjoyed this!****


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